


Departure

by twobirdsonesong



Category: CrissColfer - Fandom, Glee RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ficlet, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-05 18:21:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11018958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twobirdsonesong/pseuds/twobirdsonesong
Summary: Just a little something silly.





	1. Chapter 1

The seat is bigger than Chris anticipated, and feels more like some lawyer’s overstuffed business chair than anything on an airplane.

 

Chris finds his seat belt and watches the other passengers shuffle slowly, despondently towards coach.  Normally he’d be shuffling along with them to the cheap seats in the back, but not this morning.  This morning he’s up front.

 

He’s never flown first class before, and only sits where he sits because he didn't pay for this flight. His editor did.  He deserves a perk every now and again.

 

Chris is about to pull his headphones out of his bag when another body dives past him and collapses into the seat next to his.

 

“When did we get married?” A man asks him, sotto voce and slightly out of breath.

 

Chris blinks. “What?”

 

The man grins roguishly at him and glances up the aisle towards the galley where a flight attendant is prepping something.

 

“When did we get married?” He asks again, as though the question would make more sense a second time.

 

“Who are you?”

 

“If we tell them we’re on our honeymoon we’ll get extra drinks and probably extra food, like a kickass dessert.” He has wild, dark hair and a toothy smile.

 

“It’s 7 o’clock in the morning,” Chris points out.

 

The man shrugs. “And it will be 10 in LA when we land, so it's basically mimosa time.”

 

Chris doesn't have a chance to say something - anything - because the flight attendant approaches their seats with a tray.

 

“Can I start either of you off with a drink this morning? Or perhaps a coffee?”

 

The man, who has the window seat because Chris hates feeling confined, leans over and places his elbow on Chris’ arm rest. He's so close his shoulder is next to Chris’ mouth and Chris can smell the shampoo he washed his hair with.

 

“Hi there,” the man’s voice has gone from conspiratorial to generous. “So, my husband here would never say anything, but we're heading to LA for our honeymoon and we're wondering if we could get a couple of mimosas to start the week off right?”

 

The flight attendant’s face lights up even as Chris’ stomach sinks. He has flashes of those horrendously awkward moments in restaurants when the staff sings happy birthday to some poor sod who inevitably looks like they want to crawl under the table.

 

“That's so sweet,” she says. “When did you two get married?”

 

Chris swallows as the man’s foot pointedly nudges his. “Just last month. This was the first chance we could both get away.” He tucks his left hand out of sight, naked of a wedding ring as it is. The other man’s hands hang over the armrest, dangling near Chris’ knee.  He can just glimpse the glimmer of a ring.

 

“Let me get coffee to the rest of the cabin and I’ll be back with your drinks.” She touches Chris on the shoulder and moves down the aisle to the next row.

 

Chris breathes out and sinks in his seat, suddenly come aware of how tense he's been holding himself.

 

Next to him the man pulls back, settles into his own seat, relaxed. Chris chest feels chilled for the sudden lack of body heat.

 

“Now let's see what she comes back with,” the man says, utterly satisfied with himself.

 

“That was-”

 

“Quick thinking on that one,” the man interrupts, finally fastening his seat belt.  “Good work. I'm Darren, by the way. I'd shake your hand, but we're supposed to be married so. Hello will do.”

 

Chris let’s himself really look at the man, at Darren. He's cute, no doubt, even with a few days’ scruff on his face and the shameless scamming.

 

“This is the part where you tell me your name.”

 

“Chris.”

 

“Nice to meet you, husband.”

 

Chris blushes for no apparent reason. He is cute.  “This was inappropriate.”

 

Darren shrugs like he’s never worried about being inappropriate in his life. “Inappropriate is the cost of these seats and having to pay extra to check a bag.”

 

Chris can’t exactly argue with that, and doesn’t have the chance to anyway as the flight attendant reappears.  On her tray now sits two brimming champagne glasses.

 

Darren already has his tray pulled up while Chris fumbles with his. “Thank you so much.” Darren smiles brightly at the woman.  “We really appreciate this, finally shaking off the stress of the wedding and all that.”

 

“Thank you,” Chris adds, much quieter.

 

“We’ll be taking off shortly,” she tells them before slipping back up the aisle.

 

Darren slumps in his seat with the kind of deserved grace Chris has never had. He thinks Darren would put his feet up if he could. Darren takes a slow slip of the mimosa and sighs happily; Chris watches his throat move as his own mouth goes dry.

 

“Yes, this is the way to travel.”

 

“How often do you do this?” Chris asks.  He can’t resist drinking from his own glass; he’s not going to let it go to waste, after all.  It’s a decent mimosa, too.

 

“Not often enough,” Darren confesses.  “Don’t often sit next to the right person, if you know what I mean.”  There’s a wink in his voice.

 

“The right mark, you mean.”

 

Darren smirks.  “You looked like you could use a drink too.”

 

Chris doesn’t respond.  The plane taxis back and takes off in short order.  Chris tries to forget about Darren sitting next to him.  The first class seats are just big enough to create a false sense of space between them; he can chalk this all up to just something weird that happened to him.  He finally pulls his headphones out to settle in for the next five hours.

 

But he doesn’t quite get the chance.

 

The flight attendant reappears just after the plane levels off, and this time, with two more mimosas, she’s carrying a small, round cake.  An actual cake.

 

“We couldn’t resist,” the flight attendant says, setting the mimosas down on their trays, and the cake too.  It’s covered in a smooth, lilac fondant with delicate little decorations that suggest a congratulations.

 

“Oh, that is so kind of you.  Honestly you didn’t have to do anything like this,” Darren gushes and even Chris believes him.

 

The flight attendant smiles beatifically at them both.  “Congratulations on your honeymoon.”

 

“Jackpot,” Darren says when she’s out of earshot. They’ve been given actual forks.  Chris doesn’t think he’s ever seen actual forks on a plane.  Darren splits the small cake down the middle, revealing it to be chocolate with some kind of fruit filling.  Raspberry, Chris thinks, by the color.

 

“Where do you think they kept that cake?” Chris asks, trying not to be distracted by the site of the fork entering Darren’s mouth and the bit of chocolate left on his lips.  “And why? Do they just, I don’t know, have a supply of them in case someone is on their honeymoon?”

 

“I think you don’t need to think about it. Just enjoy it.”  Darren scoops up another bite of cake and holds his fork out to Chris.  “Come on, husband.  Just like our wedding.”  He’s teasing, and not.

  
Chris blushes again, or maybe he never stopped.  But he lets Darren feed him, just this one bite, lets the fork slide into his mouth.  It’s not the best cake Chris has ever eaten, but the overly sweet chocolate is enhanced by Darren’s unexpectedly burning gaze as he watches Chris.

 

“Not too bad, right?”

 

Chris swallows, licks his lips, wonders what he’d do if he’d met Darren at a bar or a coffee shop.  “No, not too bad at all.”

 

Darren smiles, bright and happy. “Thanks for playing along.”

 

Chris shrugs.  “Certainly made for an interesting flight.  And who can resist cake?”

 

“My life’s motto.”

 

Between them they devour the halfway decent cake in short order.  Darren asks him why he’s flying to LA (work), and tells him he’s going there for an audition (an actor, obviously).  He’s a good man, Chris thinks, under the bravado of someone who scams cake from an airline using a stranger as a fake husband.

 

The conversation dies off, but only because Darren tells him he needs to nap a little before they land and to not take it personally.

 

Chris doesn’t, but he does find it comforting, somehow, to look over and see Darren asleep, mouth open a little.  They have a few hours to go before they arrive in LA, and Chris wonders what will happen when they do.  What will happen when they land.  He doesn’t have Darren’s phone number and Darren doesn’t have his.  And what really is the likelihood something more would ever come from this strange encounter anyway.  Even if he does like the little bit of Darren’s he’s already seen, even if he is pretty cute.

 

It’d be a story to tell their friends, Chris thinks, down the line.   _How did you guys meet? Well…_ But Darren is asleep and they have a few hours to go until they land.  Who knows what happens after that.


	2. Layover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As requested, a little bit more...

Chris’ stomach twists in cold knots when the landing announcement sounds through the cabin otherwise quiet cabin. They’re arriving in Los Angeles and Chris doesn’t know what comes next.

 

Darren’s been asleep the whole flight, chair reclined back and head tilted towards Chris, breathing evenly.  His eyelashes are long and dark and he doesn’t need headphones or earplugs to stay out.  Chris doesn’t want the plane to land.

 

But Chris has meetings to get to and Darren has his audition.  They don’t actually know each other and there’s no reason for them to keep in touch once the plane lands.  But Chris wants to.  They both came from New York; surely Darren lives there too.  Surely they could reconnect after this trip.  Surely there could be more.

 

Next to him Darren stirs, awaken perhaps by the announcement or the change in cabin pressure as they begin the long descent to LAX.

 

“Hey,” Darren mumbles, voice rough, as he stretches as much as he can in his seat.  Chris does not stare at the flex of his biceps or the stretch of his shirt across his chest.

 

“Hey.”

 

Darren sits up, raises his seat to proper landing position.  “These first class seats are pretty sweet, aren’t they?”

 

Chris nods absently.  He’d spent the remainder of the flight listening to podcasts and occasionally staring at Darren.

 

Darren licks his lips and Chris offers him one of the bottles of water that the flight attendant had brought around some hours ago.  “Oh, thanks.”  He drains half of it in one go.  “Always so fucking dry in these things.”

 

“Yeah.  So-”

 

“So how long are you going to be in town?” Darren interrupts.

 

Chris swallows.  “Uh, just a few days.  Business thing.”

 

Darren nods. “Right, your new book.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I mean, I’ve just got this one audition thing, but after that…” Darren trails off, eyes huge and hopeful.

 

Chris doesn’t want the plane to land and he doesn’t want Darren to disappear. “We  _ are _ on our honeymoon,” he offers, tentatively, just in case Darren is simply being nice to the guy who helped him score a free cake.

 

Darren smiles.  “We are. And I did vow to get you the best guacamole in town.”

 

“You did?”

 

“I did.”

 

***

 

The best guacamole in Los Angeles, according to Darren, is apparently at a little bar with a glowing neon sign on Sunset.  There’s outdoor seating along the side, secluded from traffic by a tall iron gate, and it’s just warm enough to sit at one of the tables without shivering.

 

“I hope you like tequila,” Darren says, shoving a couple of menus towards Chris.

 

“I do.”

 

“Then we should get a pitcher of margaritas.  They are, and I say this with certainty, amazing.”

 

Chris thinks it’s probably a bad idea to get drunk with Darren, but it was also probably a bad idea to give his number to a stranger on a plane.  “Works for me.”

 

Darren grins.  It’s not quite sundown and the sky above them is turning a darker shade of blue Chris only ever sees on the west coast.  The neon sign illuminates the long fronds of a palm tree and the scent of fresh tortillas and roasting meat overpowers the general smell of smog.

 

“What do you like?” Darren asks.

 

_ You _ , Chris thinks, but it’s far too soon to say that.

 

“You’re the one who knows this place.  You pick.”

 

“Excellent idea.  Are you allergic to anything?”  Chris shakes his head.  “Good.”

 

A waiter comes by and Darren orders them the pitcher of margaritas, an order of chips and guac, and an array of tacos.

 

“Did you not eat today?” Chris asks when the waiter leaves. 

 

“I get too nervous before auditions to eat,” admits Darren.

 

Chris scootches his chair a little closer to the table so he can rest his elbows on it, lean in towards Darren. “How’d it go?”

 

Darren shrugs, runs a hand through his hair. “Okay, I think.  But you never fucking know.  They smile and nod and say they’ll be in touch.  They never get in touch - your agent gets in touch.  Maybe.”

 

“But how do you think it went?”

 

“Fine.  It’s just a small role in a movie, so if I don’t get it I won’t be too broken up about it.  And besides, I don’t want to be out of New York too long.  I’m trying to do the Broadway thing.  Doing as many readings as I can, going out for anything and everything even remotely in my wheelhouse. But there are a lot of guys like me out there.  You find that out really fucking fast.”

 

_ I don’t think there’s anyone like you _ , Chris thinks, but that’s ridiculous.

 

“Sounds hard,” he says instead, quite lamely.

 

“It is, but when you love something…” Darren trails off and shrugs.  “I mean, you know.  You’re out here too.”

 

“They want me to meet with screenwriters,” Chris explains.  “Either to adapt my book or, I don’t know, work on a movie instead of another book.  I’m not totally into it, not right now, anyway.  But I couldn’t say no to the meetings”  He isn’t totally sure why he’s so apprehensive about it, but he thinks it probably has to do with not wanting to step outside his comfort zone.

 

Darren hums thoughtfully.  “Well, as long as you don’t move out here.”  There’s an intensity in his voice that makes Chris warm all over.

 

“Don’t plan on it.”

 

“Good.”

 

Chris smiles.  He can’t help it.  So what if Darren is a stranger he met on a plane.  Isn’t this how people become friends and more?  Meeting, talking, growing closer.

 

“Ah, yes.” Darren leans back from the table as the waiter returns with their margaritas and chips and guac.  “I promise you, you aren’t going to regret any of this.”

 

He doesn’t.  The guacamole really is the best Chris has ever tasted.  Fresh, tangy; huge chunks of avocado breaking apart on his tongue. The brightness of the margarita highlights the creaminess of the guac and Chris is pretty sure he would move next door just to eat this every night.  Even the chips are still warm.

 

“They make the guac to order,” Darren mumbles around a mouthful. Chris doesn’t need to agree verbally.

 

The platter of tacos arrives in short order, fragrant and steaming.

 

“Carne asada?” Darren asks, pushing an overflowing taco onto a plate.  “Carnitas?”

 

Chris’ mouth actually waters.  “One of everything please.”

 

“My kind of man.”

 

It makes him blush, an embarrassing pink across his whole face.  He’s grateful for the growing night that hides it.  A waiter lights candles on the tables around them and turns on a tall heat lamp.

  
They eat and Darren tells him a little about what it’s like to audition.  Chris refills their glasses and talks about what it likes to write a book and why he wants to keep writing even though it’s fucking hard.

 

“When you love something,” Darren says, a bit too sagely for his apparent years.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Chris licks grease off his fingers and blushes even more at the heat in Darren’s eyes as he watches.  “Thank you, for this. I’m - I’m glad this is where we went on our honeymoon.”

 

Darren laughs loudly, eyes crinkling and teeth showing.

 

The tacos are almost gone and so is a second order of guacamole when the waiter returns to their table.

 

“Anything else tonight?” He asks and Chris swears Darren winks at him before he answers.

 

“Well, he wasn’t going to say anything,” Darren begins. “But it’s his birthday today, the big Three-Oh, and he absolutely LOVES bread pudding, and I told him that you guys had the best damn bread pudding in the city.”

 

The waiter nods and slips back into the bar through the side door.

 

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Chris marvels.

 

Darren grins over the lip of his glass. “It’s a game my brother and I used to play.  It’s not stealing if they give it to you.”

 

“Mhmm, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

 

Sure enough, when the bill finally comes the bread pudding is missing from it.

 

Chris shakes his head in disbelief, pulling some cash out of his wallet. “You know, that bread pudding was good enough I’d be delighted to pay for it.”

 

Darren slaps a credit card down.  “Next time.”

 

“So, there’s a next time, then?”

 

Darren regards him with dark, careful eyes.  “We have wedded bliss to return to, don’t we?”

 

Chris shivers.  “In New York?”

 

“In New York.”

 

Chris bites his lips, considers the actual world of possibilities stretching out before them, and smiles.


	3. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is the end of this random little world. Thanks for reading!

Chris loiters outside the little wine bar in the West Village, scuffing his shoe against the curb and willing himself to just go inside. 

 

His phone had just buzzed with a text from Darren saying that he was running a few minutes late and Chris can’t decide if it’s worse to stand outside alone or sit inside alone.  Either way, people can see that he’s alone, and waiting.  And possibly being stood up.

 

They hadn’t had the same flight back to New York; Chris left a day after Darren, but that hadn’t stopped Darren from texting him nonstop.  Random nothings throughout the day, photos of his dinner, links to tweets he found hilarious.  Anything that seemed to pop into his mind.  Chris had hardly landed back on the east coast when Darren had asked him about going out to dinner again as soon as he got in.  The answer was easy.

 

Now Chris stands on the curb of a tree-lined block trying to look like someone who's not waiting on someone else. 

 

“Chris!”

 

He turns at the sound of his name. Darren is striding up the block, waving at him.  His smile is obvious even from a distance.  Relief fills Chris; not that he truly thought Darren would stand him up, but he worried all the same. They’ve only spent a few days together, after all.  How much does he really know?

 

“Hey,” Chris greets in return.  Darren comes right up to him and presses a quick kiss to his cheek. Chris blushes, because that's all he seems to do around Darren. 

 

“Sorry I’m late,” Darren apologizes. “You know how it is. Takes 15 minutes to get somewhere, you give yourself 30, and still run 10 minutes late.”

 

“New York.”

 

Darren nods. “New York.  Shall we?”

 

A chipper girl welcomes them to the restaurant as soon as they step inside.  It smells of garlic and tomatoes and Chris’ stomach rumbles.

 

“We have a reservation for two for 7:00pm.  Name is Criss, Darren.”

 

The girl scans her reservations and then her face brightens.  “Yes of course, right this way.”

 

She leads them through the little restaurant to the back, to a small table that’s in a spot that looks like it doesn’t always have one.  It’s quieter here, somehow secluded even in the tight space.  The white table cloth is crisp and the glasses smudgeless; a little candle burns warmly.  A stainless steel champagne bucket sits in a stand just off to the side.  Chris grows suspicious.

 

“Here you are.”

 

Darren thanks her, and pulls Chris’ chair out for him.  ‘What did you do?” Chris whispers under his breath as he sits and Darren presses his lips together against a grin.

 

“Nothing.”

 

Chris doesn’t believe him.  Almost before Darren is settled in the chair across from Chris, a waiter comes around with a bottle of champagne.

 

“Compliments of the house,” he oozes, popping the cork and pouring them two flutes.  Chris narrows his eyes, staring Darren down from across the table.  Darren doesn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed.

 

“What did you do?” Chris asks again, when the waiter has slipped away to give them time with the menus.

 

“Why do you assume I did anything?” Darren deflects easily, like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

 

“Because I’m getting to know you and I’m  _ getting to know you _ .  What did you do?”

 

“So...I definitely maybe totally told them it was our one year anniversary,” Darren admits, grinning just a little sheepishly.  “And that I had proposed to you here at this table.”

 

“Darren.”  Chris can’t even be scandalized; it’s too absurd.

 

“What?”  He picks up one of the champagne glasses and stares pointedly at the second until Chris, reluctantly, raises his own.  “Happy anniversary.”

 

Chris shakes his head, but accepts the toast.  It’s a good bottle, not that he knows too much about the finer points of champagne, but it’s a nice balance between sweet and dry.  It matches the gentle fizzing he feels under his skin whenever he’s around Darren.

 

“Has anyone ever talked to you about your pathological need to lie in order to get free food?” He asks, setting his glass down.

 

“Thought you might say that. So.” Darren pulls out a small box out of his pocket and sets it on the table in front of Chris.  Chris’ whole body flashes heat at the sight of it.

 

“What is this?”

 

“A box.  Open it.”

 

It’s too big to be a ring box and that would be truly certifiable.  But it’s too small to be much else.

 

Darren shifts in his seat, clears his throat.  “I’m going to get embarrassed if you don’t open it, and we’re too far into this ruse to blow it now.  Open it, please.”

 

The box is light when Chris picks it up, and empty when he opens it. “Uh...yeah, it's a box.”  There’s nothing to indicate it’s special in any way.

 

“See.  I don't lie about everything.”  Darren’s hands move from the table, to his lap, back to the table.  He takes another drink of the champagne, more restless than Chris has ever seen him.

 

Chris turns the box over, just to make sure he isn’t missing anything.  “So, do you want me to throw this out for you or something?”

 

“What? No. It’s symbolic.”

 

“Symbolic?”

 

Darren leans forward, looks directly into Chris’ eyes.  His face is shadowed with stubble, like he hasn’t shaved since Chris first met him on the plane, not even a week ago.  “Will you be my boyfriend?”

 

Chris blinks.

 

“I mean, I like you.  And since you agreed to come to dinner with me tonight, instead of being rid of me forever, I get the feeling you kind of like me too.  And I did let you in on the secret of the best guac in Los Angeles.  So, will you be my boyfriend?”

 

Chris turns the box over in his hands once more.  It’s something of an unorthodox start, he knows, but considering how they met, he supposes it’s exactly the right kind of start.  He shouldn’t expect anything else from a man like Darren.

 

“Only if you promise that sometimes we’ll actually pay for our food.”

 

Darren laughs, bright and happy.  “Oh, I can’t promise that.  So that’s a yes?”

 

Chris nods, blushing once more.  “That’s a yes.”

 

Darren’s smile is nearly blinding and the bell tone of their glasses clinking together reverberates through Chris’ whole body.

 

The waiter reappears.  “Have we decided yet?  Or do you need a few more minutes.”

 

Chris meets Darren’s gaze and smiles.  “Well, it is an important night, so I suppose we better splurge.”


End file.
